


Castaway

by mac23



Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Detective/Mafia AU, Kaji killed in the line of duty, M/M, Yuuki is still dead yall, boss mafuyu, detective Ueno, discussion of PTSD and survivors guilt, dw I will never graphically explain his death, im sorry, this au will singlehandedly send me to meet god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 10:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mac23/pseuds/mac23
Summary: Uenoyama is alone, forced to bare the waves of the sea the rages inside of him brought on by his PTSD. It takes a toll on him each day that he drifts without course. The one thing he finds comfort in, is talking to a man named Mafuyu who rides his train at night after work. Little does he know that Mafuyu heads the emerging group in the Mafia world he so desperately works himself to take down.





	Castaway

**Author's Note:**

> jillian,
> 
> thank you for your encouragement. I wouldn't have been able to write this fic without it <3

What do we become when we step away from the mirror? Who are we when we no longer have eyes on ourselves? Are we the same people to the eyes of others as we are to our own? It would be nice to assume that’s the case. After all, we are only the culmination of what we use to define ourselves. We like to hope that others always see the best in us, because we’ve done our best to cover our skin in poorly designed labels for which we harm ourselves just to procure. And even though the labels lose their adhesive quality after they’re run down by water, everyone wants to think that drowning won’t change who they are—that even after we are broken down to our barest of forms, we’re still the same. But the labels fall off and, in the end, our effort to stay afloat ends up not mattering anyway.

Though that may be, Uenoyama still gives his all to stay afloat. He doesn’t care what others think, per se—he’s more concerned about keeping his lungs dry. There were days when the surf roughed him up quite a bit, and he would sacrifice parts of himself to stay alive. It was impossible to pinpoint any one thing as the sole raft upon which he drifted—it was more like a hodgepodge of excuses stacked on top of each other, and his routine was the rope that held it all together. It’s a tedious structure. “I can’t afford to dwell on my pain, because I’m late for work,” or “if I drink too much, I’ll sleep through breakfast and my dog won’t get to eat.” Each day, the reasons change, his routine is miraculously upheld, and Uenoyama manages to avoid being thrown overboard by his internal sea of anxiety.

But little by little, the raft starts to fall apart. He can feel his routine slip further and further away from him, and the waves mercilessly carry away all his excuses. Uenoyama knows that the day he’s submerged is impending, and just the idea of treading water exhausts him. As he lay in bed at night, empty bottles littering the room, his chest constricts and his muscles ache with built up tension after fighting with his PTSD all day. Sleep eludes him—instead, he stays awake wondering which memories his panic attacks will call forth to flood his lungs. 

Just as he feels himself slipping into subconsciousness, his alarm is blaring in his ear and there’s one very concerned German Shepherd resting her head on his chest to check for breathing. Groggily, he sits up and gives his phone a quick look through. Two missed calls from his boss tell him he’s most certainly late. His head pounds from the earful he hasn’t even gotten yet. 

“I need to stop drinking,” he says to his dog, for which he receives a few licks on his hand in return. 

From room to room, Artemis followed Uenoyama. Her duties required a sensible and reliable temperament, so she was a calm dog by nature, only getting excited by the prospect of a trip to the park. It was a Tuesday, though, which meant work. She waited patiently by the door while Uenoyama donned a button up and some slacks, as per routine, and when the time finally came for them to step out into the world, Uenoyama outfitted her in a black vest that read “K-9 Unit/ On Duty.” A quick train ride and half a mile worth of walking later, Uenoyama and Artemis are reporting for work. While Artemis makes her usual rounds for pats in the precinct, Uenoyama retreats to his office space. 

Down the winding corridor that runs behind the main office and through two coded doors, lays the Mafia Combatant Unit in the Organized Crime division, a squadron comprised of four detectives of which Uenoyama was the Captain. At the moment, there were only three of them. They were promised a fourth detective back in February, but it was now June and the supervisor had yet to follow through.

Uenoyama wasn’t sure whether the position remaining unfilled or getting a new detective would hurt more. It almost felt as though they should retire the number four jersey, and play ball with just three from now on. The squad room seemed so empty without the familiar crown of light blonde hair lazing about. When the door opened, for a moment, Uenoyama expected Kaji to walk in with that shit-eating grin on his face like usual, but reality wasn’t that kind. Itaya and Ueki had arrived even later than Uenoyama, ushered in by Artemis.

“You’re late,” Uenoyama chided the two.

“Uecchi, we’ve been here for the past hour, it’s you who’s late,” Itaya replied. 

“Well I showed up to the squad room first, so I’m not late, you are.”

“Actually, you’re late Captain Uenoyama,” the Unit Supervisor interrupted.

Uenoyama flinched when he heard his voice. There was something about Supervisor Yatake that scared him senseless, and ever since they first met, Uenoyama has done his best to stay on the right side of his boss. Fully expecting a stern lecture about his tardiness, Uenoyama braced himself for a storm, unprepared to withstand the hurricane that came instead.

“I won’t punish you for being late. You’ve got more than enough on your plate to deal with, starting with training. This is Nakayama Haruki and he’ll be joining the unit. You’re responsible for showing him the ropes, _Captain._ ”

A wide-eyed man stepped through the doorway, silently taking in the mess of the squad room. The walls were covered in suspect photos and tips scribbled hastily on sticky notes. Uniformed writing labeled each crime scene photo and copies of interview transcripts were strewn about the room. The overflowing trash can dealt the final blow. It was so underwhelming that Haruki had a hard time not asking to be transferred immediately. 

“Supervisor, with all due respect, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it, Uenoyama. Fresh eyes are going to help you out. Do your duty, and catch Haruki up to speed.”

Without further ado, the supervisor shut the door behind him, leaving as quickly as he had barged in. Uenoyama sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose to try and ease the sinus headache building up behind his eyes.

“Um,” Haruki started, trying to initiate conversation with the captain.

“Don’t mind him, Haruki,” Itaya cut him off, “he’s really grumpy when he’s hungover.”

“Oi, Itaya, what are you s-“ Uenoyama said before Ueki shoved a water bottle into his face.

“Drink, Captain.”

A disgruntled, hungover Uenoyama chugged half the bottle of water before pouring the rest into Artemis’ bowl. 

Itaya gave Haruki a tour of the squad room, while the other two looked on in silence. Itaya was definitely more of a people-person so Uenoyama and Ueki were content with letting Itaya take the lead here. A few minutes later, Haruki was getting comfortable at the only empty desk in the squad room. Uenoyama averted his eyes and tried to ignore the sour taste amassing on his tongue.

“So,” Haruki tried again, leaning back in his chair, “what’s the story behind all this?”

He motioned in the general direction of the collection of papers adorning the walls. Several colors popped out at him, insinuating a color-coded system, and there were even a few familiar faces that he had crossed paths with when he worked in Narcotics. He was acquainted with the basic hierarchal structure of drug gangs, and he assumed the same structure existed within the Mafia as well. The mass of pieces on the wall suggested that the roots run much deeper in the Mafia, though.

“You worked in Narcotics before transferring here, right?” Ueki inquired.

“Yeah but only for a few months. My original assignment is with Homicide, but they loaned me out to Narcotics and now they’re loaning me to the Mafia Combatant Unit.”

“So, you should have a basic understanding of the rungs of an organized crime ring, then.”

“Roughly, but this looks more complex than anything I’ve seen before,” Haruki said reluctantly.

He didn’t want to come off as incompetent because he did in fact work in a similar unit for a few months, but he was more accustomed to dealing with hard evidence like trace DNA and dead bodies. Following up on eye-witness accounts were standard in Homicide, and on a glance, it looks as though these Mafia cases are usually he-said she-said, so he was positive there wasn’t much difference there. He supposed financial details could lend credence to a few theories, but the fact of the matter was this Unit had little to go on because the Mafia were notorious for money laundering methods. 

“The gist of it is that there are two opposing Mafia families in this region: the Cameron family and the Yoshida family. They both traffic firearms and illegal goods. The Camerons moved in from overseas about a year ago when the heir to the Yoshida family was found dead of an apparent suicide. They thought that they could take over the Yoshida territory since their boss is ill, but” Itaya explained, pointing to reconnaissance photos of both families.

“but?”

“A third family came out of the woodwork—the Caplan group” Ueki offered.

“Not really a mafia family,” Uenoyama corrected.

He stood up from his desk, drew the blinds, and walked to the wall covered in photos. Haruki waited for Uenoyama to break his pause, too intimidated to prod him to speak.

“Their syndicate is more professional than familial. They move covertly, independent from the other two, taking hit jobs for financial compensation. We’ve seen more movement from the Caplan group in recent months, but we suspect that they may have been active from the time the Cameron family came to town.”

“I know that territorial gangs are all about conquering, but what are the Caplan group after if not the Yoshida territory?” 

“We haven’t been able to identify a motive yet. We listen to the chatter every other day and so far, its fruitless,” Itaya sighed.

“The part I’m stuck on is whether or not they’re really affiliated with the Caplan group,” Uenoyama said to no one in particular.

“What do you mean?” Haruki inquired.

Haruki felt stupid for asking questions that seemed unnecessary, but there was so much he didn’t know. Surprisingly, Captain Uenoyama answered each one in stride without much complaint. He couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the brooding captain wasn’t all that bad?

“The Caplan group hails from eastern Europe and has its roots in the KGB.”

“The Soviet Union?” Haruki all but yelled. The prospect of trying to uproot a Russian group in his hometown scared the shit out of him.

“They were supposed to be a separate entity trained to perform the hits that the USSR couldn’t due to political tensions. It’s true that the operations of the Caplan group here in Japan are nearly identical to that of the OG Caplan group, but just one thing doesn’t make sense,” Uenoyama continued, unphased by Haruki’s exclamation.

As if to prompt the Captain to continue, Haruki leaned in. 

“the Caplan group was completely exterminated when the USSR was dissolved. The Caplan group shouldn’t exist,” Ueki finished for Uenoyama.

“But yet here they are, on the turf of one of the largest Japanese Mafia families,” Uenoyama added as an afterthought. “My sister works over at Interpol and she’s keeping me updated on the information flow underground in eastern Europe. There’s nothing to discredit their claims to the Caplan name, but we also can’t be one hundred percent sure it’s them.”

Haruki ran a hand through his hair, trying to get the flow of events down pat. There was a lot of information to process here and it was a much heavier load than he had expected to be burdened with on day one.

“So, if they are the Caplan group, then we’ve got a massive problem on our hands, that carries international implications. And if they’re not the Caplan group, then there’s a wolf out there masquerading as another wolf, and we have little to no information to go on,” Haruki thought aloud.

“Precisely,” Uenoyama and Ueki said in unison.

Itaya threw a pen from across the room into the cupholder on Uenoyama’s desk, which earned him a disappointed look from everyone in the room. Uenoyama checked his watch, yawned heavily, and headed for the door, a carefree Artemis following suit from his spot underneath Uenoyama’s desk. 

“I’m going to the burger place on the corner of 6th. I’m assuming the usual?”

Ueki and Itaya more or less affirmed him as he opened the door and beckoned Artemis through.

“Oh my god, its Artemis! I didn’t think I’d get to see you again after Kaji passed,” Haruki exclaimed when he laid eyes on the dog for the first time that day.

Uenoyama whipped his head around, utter horror painting his features. He felt that same constraint in his chest he had felt last night and it was cutting off his airflow. Hearing his late partner’s name sent him into a fit of hyperventilating. On the black screen of his closed eyes, his mind reeled back memories of the day his partner was killed in the line of duty. Now crouching against the door to try and catch his breath, Uenoyama was holding his head in his hands until Artemis wiggled her way in. He clutched the fur on her back and tried to listen for the heartbeat of the dog in his arms. Uenoyama could smell the scent of kibble on her breath and after a few moments could faintly discern the sound of her beating heart through the muddled voices in the room. 

Unsure how much time had passed, Uenoyama was incredibly unstable. The raft was seesawing and he was on the verge of capsizing. He could feel a chill working its way up his legs and all he could do was cling to Artemis in the doorway of the squad room. As he came down from his panic attack, his breathing evened out and he felt like crying. His head pounded from the strain of holding back tears and his eyes wrinkled at the edges. He was so mentally worn out from battling with himself every day. How much longer until he’s stripped of all of his armor and he’s at the mercy of the raging ocean inside him?

“Ritsuka, you’re alright. Breathe.”

Yatake’s voice bit through the haze and brought his attention to focus. Uenoyama looked around and saw three worried faces waiting across the room, and one stern-faced supervisor right in front of him. He eased his grip on Artemis and welcomed the comfort of her gentle kisses to his hands.

“I’m going to get my car. I’ll take you home.”

Uenoyama adamantly refused and stumbled to his feet. He was light headed and black fireworks exploded behind his eye lids, clouding his vision. Artemis whined at his feet, siding with Yatake in that moment.

“I need to take the train home—let me take the train home. I have to. I’m fine,” Uenoyama reassured his supervisor.

After an hour of verbal tennis, the supervisor caved in. Uenoyama couldn’t explain to him why, but he _had_ to take the train home. 

It was the one thing he actually looked forward to every day.


End file.
